


The Weight Of The Crown

by Laurelin (Lintelomiel)



Series: Pilgrim [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-War, Returning Home, Reunion Sex, Second Chances, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintelomiel/pseuds/Laurelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of hardship and battle on the plains of Mordor, Thranduil returns home to his father's throne... and the woman he left behind. This occurs several years after Oropher’s death as described in <i>Long Live The King.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rebel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ellyn = male elves

The elven realm of Greenwood the Great was in uproar, and for good reason. After long years of uncertainty and fear, a messenger from the South had brought long-awaited tidings, tidings both of joy and of woe: the foe in Mordor was defeated, the war over at last, but it was a dramatically decimated army that made its way back to Greenwood, and it was not the King who led the warriors home.  
  
Oropher, the Iron King, would not be returning from the battlefield. It was his son who had commanded the troops in the final years of battle, his son who would now soon be crowned and sit upon the throne that had been empty for so many years.  
  
A crowd had gathered at the entrance to the palace to welcome the sons of Greenwood home: the Queen at the front, grave and pale in a black mourning dress, flanked by several ladies of the court, the King’s steward and all members of the Council, ready to swear fealty to the new King and kiss his ring.  
  
Arasien stood, by her own choice, at the back. She probably had a right to a more prominent spot, as she was as good as betrothed to the Prince – no, King – but she would not be so bold as to presume that she was worthy to stand beside the Queen, who must feel so very conflicted today. Yet Oropher’s widow looked outwardly calm, unmoved even by the sight of the approaching army, as though her son returning from war were an everyday occurrence. Arasien wished she could be that poised herself; her own emotional struggle was the main reason why she preferred to remain invisible for now.  
  
Years had gone by since she last saw Thranduil, years since they last embraced and made each other tearful promises. The day he rode to war with his father she knew she would never smile again. Her life had been on hold since then, the idle pursuits that filled her days providing poor distraction from her heartache and fear. She had prepared herself for the likelihood of never seeing him again, but today he returned a victor, with years of battle, violence and despair under his belt. Had he changed? Did he love her, still? Did he even remember those promises he had made her?  
  
As Oropher’s only son, Thranduil was the sole heir to the throne, a fate he had accepted very reluctantly. While Oropher had been a stern but just leader, respected by the people, Thranduil had the reputation of being a rebel, unfit for kingship. There were many who doubted him even now-- she had heard the whispers in the halls. He was headstrong, did not appreciate being told what to do, and had spent many years challenging his father’s will in every way he knew how. Their relationship had always been strained because of it, and Oropher had regularly chastised his son for his wrongdoings, both in private and in public. Many of these quarrels revolved around Thranduil’s promiscuity, for he bedded ellyn frequently and openly despite Oropher’s disapproval.

While Arasien was no stranger to feelings of jealousy, she had never forbidden these couplings or spoken even a single word of blame. When he was with her, he was the most gentle and considerate of lovers, and he could be intensely romantic when the mood struck him-- but he was also young, passionate, red-blooded and, yes, quite self-centred and greedy in his pursuit of pleasure. He was by no means perfect, but he was the only one she could ever love, of that she was sure. She was prepared to stand back and wait for him to grow tired of that unruly life he was leading, even if it took an age.  
  
His heart was already hers, she knew that much; at least it had been before that cursed war called him away. Now she was not so sure anymore, but she would soon find out if they still had a future, and that thought filled her with fearful anxiety. What if the war had changed him beyond recognition? What if the man she loved existed now only in her memory?

 _His eyes,_ she thought, _his eyes will tell me everything I need to know._

At last the host of Greenwood – what was left of it, at least – came pouring through the gate, but Thranduil’s face was the only one she saw, and her heart leapt into her throat. There he was, at the very front, with the King’s loyal general, Heledir, beside him. He was clad in light marching armour and a dusty emerald-green cloak, bow and quiver on his back, sword glinting at his side. Many of the men were smiling, laughing even, glad to be home at last, but Thranduil’s face was as grave as she had ever seen it. He had lost too much to come home rejoicing: his father, many friends, and, so it seemed, his youth as well. Arasien’s heart ached to see it.  
  
The Queen was the first to descend the flight of steps, and she spread her arms as Thranduil came at her. Mother and son embraced fiercely, sharing a long moment of great emotive power even though neither shed a single tear. Oropher had never shown emotion in public, and he had expected the same of his wife and son, who now honoured that wish in this hardest of moments.  
  
Finally the Queen drew back, taking her son’s hand and kissing the ring that had graced her husband’s hand before. “Welcome home, my King,” she said in a remarkably steady voice. “Come, the Council awaits your command.”  
  
Arasien, who had not moved from her spot, swallowed painfully when she saw the resigned nod Thranduil gave in response. _Leave him be! He will be King for the rest of his days; must he feel the weight of the crown today?_  
  
As Thranduil came up the flight of steps, however, he had no eyes for Steward or Council. Instead he was looking around, scanning the crowd, and her breath caught in her throat when she realized that he was looking for her face among the many. She told herself to move, to make her presence known in some way, but found that her body did not obey her. When his gaze finally found hers, all her fear and doubt melted away in an instant-- but at the same time, she could have wept at the raw emotional force she saw in his eyes.  
  
“Arasien, why are you standing at the back?” he called softly. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he addressed the Queen. “Why is she not allowed to greet me before the Council, Mother?”  
  
The Queen seemed taken aback by his firm tone. “My son, I… I wasn’t sure if it would be proper.”  
  
“Proper!” He all but spat it out. Ignoring everyone else, he briskly made his way towards Arasien, the crowd parting before him like a field of corn before the plough. For a moment she thought he would take her in his arms, but he hesitated and halted one step in front of her. He appeared to be drinking in the sight of her with great greedy gulps, and she trembled like a leaf, waiting, longing to embrace him with all she had. He was beautiful, beautiful! And she loved him so very much.  
  
“Rasi,” he said softly, and the moment that old pet name left his lips, she realized how much she had missed that, too. “It’s been many years since we last saw one another, and if you have given your heart to another since then, I won’t hold it against you. But if this be the case, by Elbereth, I pray you tell me right now.”

“Another?” She shook her head slowly and told him the simple truth. “No, Thranduil. My heart has been yours for many years, and so it always will be. I love you more today than I ever have, if that is possible.”  
  
He grasped her hand and bowed his head to kiss it. As he did so, she thought she saw a wetness in his eyes, but when he stood up, it was gone.  
  
“Of course it is proper, Mother.” He spoke loudly and clearly, but more calmly than before. He took Arasien’s hand in his, twining their fingers together, and smiled that smile she had so hoped to see. “She is my chosen Queen, and if she’ll have me, I will wed her before the new Moon.”


	2. Lord Of The Halls

Once he had observed the niceties with regard to the Council, Thranduil - more out of habit than anything else - asked his mother leave to retreat to his private chambers for a few hours, to which the Queen softly replied that he was lord of the halls now and could do as he pleased. He did not respond to that, but kissed her tiredly on the cheek. “Until tonight, Mother.”  
  
“The King wishes to retire?” Galion, the butler, snapped his fingers and at once a young elf in uniform appeared. “This is Aegas, Your Grace. He will be your personal valet.”  
  
Aegas bowed so deeply that his nose almost touched his knees. “My liege, your chambers have been prepared in anticipation of your arrival. If you and the lady would follow me?”  
  
As they made to depart, Arasien experienced a moment of embarrassment. It was no secret that she had frequently shared Thranduil’s bed for many years, but to leave together so openly, as though they were already man and wife? Thranduil had no such scruples; he even took her hand as they silently followed Aegas along the lamp-lit corridors. Ah, then again, to Mandos with decorum. All had heard his proposal, and surely the preparations for a wedding feast were getting underway even now. It was only a matter of days, hours maybe, before she became his Queen in the public eye. Today, she would take that title in the privacy of his bed.  
  
Aegas unlocked and opened the door to Thranduil’s rooms, stepping aside to let the pair enter. “I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction. The rooms have been cleaned this morning, fresh linens have been brought up, and you will find wine, cool water and refreshments in your bedroom. I have personally overseen the preparations.”  
  
“Thank you,” Thranduil said. “I am sure we will be wanting for nothing.” He unhooked the cloak from his shoulders with a look of relief. He was still in armour, although his weapons had been taken by his squire earlier.  
  
Aegas rushed forward to take the cloak from Thranduil’s hands. “Do you wish for me to help you undress? I can take your armour for cleaning and repairs.”  
  
Arasien smiled, amused by the young elf's diligence, but Thranduil barely suppressed a sigh. “I have dressed and undressed myself these many years, Aegas,” he said, not unkindly. “If I need anything, I'll not hesitate to let you know, but for now, you may leave us.”  
  
Once the door clicked shut behind the valet, Thranduil let a sigh escape him after all. “I had forgotten about all the fussing. I suppose that is one thing I haven't missed on those godforsaken plains.”  
  
“They want to take care of you, Thranduil,” Arasien said. “Your return is a blessing from the Valar, one we stopped expecting a long time ago.” She cupped one side of his face gently. “I want to take care of you, also. Will you allow me that?”  
  
He nodded, leaning into her touch slightly and closing his eyes. Now that they were finally alone and he was no longer pretending, she was beginning to understand just how physically and emotionally drained he was. Her heart went out to him, and she wished she could reach inside and take away his pain. What ugliness had he seen before the gates of Mordor? What evil deeds had he witnessed, and how many foes had he himself killed? She reached for his arm and began undoing the fastenings of the leather vambrace he wore over his tunic. A squire she was not, but gradually, layer by layer, she stripped him of his armour, putting each piece aside with care. When she got to his tunic, she opened the buttons - some were actually missing - and peeled the faded, threadbare fabric away from his shoulders.  
  
At this point she took a moment to study him, feeling a need to reacquaint herself with his physique. Tall as a tree, slender yet muscular, he was everything she thought of as perfection. No mark or scar could change that, and she saw quite a few new ones on him. Reminders of the war-- she would have to get used to them. When she looked up and saw his self-conscious, almost apologetic expression, she put a hand on his chest and gave him a smile to reassure him. “Come, you’ll feel better after a hot bath.”  
  
They spoke little, and that was fine. She knew that now was not the time to ask him about the years that lay behind him; one day the stories would come on their own account, when they were ripe for the telling. For now, it was enough to be near him, and to take care of his unspoken needs.  
  
She stayed with him while he sat in the tub, sponging down his chest and shoulders and scrubbing his back. She also washed his hair, which had become uncharacteristically dry and dull, gave it a long overdue trim and spent a considerable amount of time drying and combing his hair until it shone once more. He sat passively in the tub, staring into space, but when she started a gentle massage of his shoulders, his sighs told her that he was enjoying it. After a few minutes, however, he indicated that she had pampered him enough and that he was ready to come out of the water.  
  
While he climbed out of the tub, she took a soft towel from the linen closet and brought it back to where he stood, dripping water on the tiled floor. When she started rubbing him dry, however, something seemed to break in him. “Rasi,” he said hoarsely, “you treat me too well. I don't deserve it.”  
  
“Today, you deserve all the care I can possibly give you,” she replied softly. She looked into his eyes and saw the desolation within. “You poor sweetheart.”  
  
He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. “My love,” he whispered, “I don't know if I can do this.”  
  
“You can and you will,” she told him calmly. “You have all the makings of a good King, a great King, and don't you forget it. I know you feel overwhelmed, but give it time. I will always love and support you, and I promise you that between these walls, you will never have to be King. In the privacy of our chambers you will only be Thranduil, my husband, and I your wife.”  
  
He closed his eyes and released a deep sigh, and she felt his unspoken gratitude.  
  
“Would you like to lie with me now?” she asked him then. “You can, if you want to.”  
  
He met her eyes, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I... I don't know if I should,” he replied haltingly. “It's been so long, I don't trust myself to-- I'm afraid to hurt you.”  
  
“You'll not hurt me.” She took his hand and gently led him into the bedroom. “We can have a cup of wine first, if you like.”  
  
He shook his head and croaked, “Later perhaps.”  
  
She began to undress while he watched, not trying to seduce - at least not yet - but simply shedding items of clothing that would only be in the way. When she stood before him in only her undergown, she hesitated, for the first time. “Before we go further, Thranduil, I have a request to make.”  
  
He licked his bottom lip. “Name it… name it.”  
  
“I would have you teach me.” She looked into his eyes earnestly. “I know that... your lovers pleasured you in ways I could not, but if we are to be married, I would have that amended. Show me what it is you craved from those ellyn, and I will seek to satisfy your needs in their stead.”  
  
A sound of anguish escaped him, and he reached out to touch her cheek. “You are sweet, Rasi, so sweet, but my desires have changed. I cannot share with you what I shared with them-- it would be wrong to use you in that way. These past years, it was you who was with me when I laid myself to rest in my tent, your face that haunted my dreams. I never once thought of _them_ , and I would not have you believe otherwise. Rasi, you were the one all along, and it shames me now that I couldn't say it before. It shames me that I couldn't be faithful, and I’m sorry, so sorry...”  
  
“Don’t apologize, for you have not wounded me,” she said truthfully. “My request stands. You are soon to be my husband, and I want to know what gives you pleasure.”  
  
Without waiting for a response, she took his hand and guided it to her breast. “Touch me, my love,” she told him softly. “You have won the war, now claim your prize. Do not fear the flame of passion, but let it burn freely. What happened in the past no longer matters; our lives start anew, here and now.”


	3. Befitting A King

Thranduil moaned softly when his strong, callused hand covered her breast. After a moment’s hesitation, he spread his fingers and turned his hand slightly to accommodate all of her, measuring the weight of her breast in his palm. She sighed and leaned into the touch. “Yes, that's it. Cast your doubts aside, my sweet lover. Your hands will remember the way.”  
  
Her encouragement was effective: his touch grew surer and more confident. He leaned in to kiss her neck, her shoulder, the soft point between jaw and throat. What little air there was between them seemed to crackle, and she felt herself melting into his hands like hot wax. Finally he took her face between his hands and brought his mouth over hers for a kiss so sweet that her heart swelled to bursting. The cold, hard metal of Oropher's ring felt strange against her skin, but Thranduil's mouth was warm and wet and familiar, and the kiss intensified as his tongue tangled hungrily with hers. She moaned and let her hands travel up and down his back, cupping and squeezing his rear and sinking her nails into his flesh. He let out a low grunt and she felt his sex hardening against her belly. She slid one hand across his hip and dipped lower, cupping his balls and grazing them with her nails.  
  
He pulled back with a gasp. “Rasi, what are you doing?”  
  
“Don’t speak.” She put one finger across his lips. In the past she had often left it to him to take the initiative, but today marked a new beginning-- and she instinctively felt that he would need a little nudging this time. “Sit down on the bed.”  
  
He did as she asked, his eyes fixed on her as she guided his legs further apart and knelt on the floor between them. His cock stood up proud and firm between his thighs. “Are you sure-”  
  
“Hush.” She smiled at him. “You will enjoy this, I promise.”

She took him in hand, his hips jerking when she began stroking him in a tight fist. He was beautiful when aroused-- she had always thought so, yet she had not often volunteered for the act she was about to perform. The truth was that she had long lacked the confidence for it, but this, she knew, was something he liked to have done to him. She leaned in closer and let her mouth join her fingers, brushing his shaft with her lips and using her tongue to caress him in places she remembered to be especially sensitive. She became braver as he shuddered and moaned her name, and she intensified her caresses to draw even more responses from him. Oh how she loved him, and how she had longed for him all these years. For a moment she was tempted to straddle his lap and have that desperate ache between her legs sated, but no, she could be patient a little longer. First, she wanted to make him forget himself, to watch him come completely undone.

She kissed and licked a trail from the root of his erection to its flushed tip and began wrapping her lips around it. He was looking at her with a slack mouth, white-knuckled hands gripping the sheets. She meant for him to look, because she knew that the sight gave him as much pleasure as the act itself. She didn't rush, taking her time to rediscover how much of him she could take and gradually establishing a smooth slide up and down, coming up for air only when she really had to. With one hand she gently massaged his scrotum, the other worked on his length together with her mouth.

Thranduil was flushed and wracked by pleasure, barely able to stay upright as his body prepared for a powerful climax. “Stop, stop this,” he panted before long, reaching for her bobbing head. “I’ll spill within moments if you don’t-- ah, _ahhh_ , curse it!”

He gave a mighty shout, bracing himself on his elbows as he bucked and arched off the bed, and Arasien got to taste the salty tang of victory. It thrilled her to the core, bringing him to completion in this way, even though she was sure that her technique allowed for improvement. She diligently swallowed, not disengaging until he was well and completely spent.

“Did that take the edge off, my dear?” she asked him sweetly, sitting back to meet his gaze.  
  
He actually smiled at that, a sight that pleased her more than anything. “You amaze me, Rasi,” he said softly, brushing his thumb along her bottom lip. “Yes, I suppose I am on edge, even more so than I realized. But after what you just did, I don’t think I need to teach you my favourite things at all.”  
  
“I enjoyed it,” she said, rising to her feet. “But with some practise, I know I can do even better.” She unlaced her chemise and let it slide to the floor as she joined him on the bed.

“A tantalizing prospect indeed.” He caught her wrists and pinned her down on her back. “But now it is your turn, my lovely bride. Spread your legs so I may give you a taste of your own sweet medicine.”

With a fluttering heart, she surrendered control to him, opening her legs as he brought his head down and claimed the prize that was his by right. Oh, but she did remember that incredible tongue of his! With expert skill it circled and flicked her clit until she was in an ecstatic frenzy, but Thranduil wasn’t one to do half a job on anything, especially this. He knew her body better than she herself did, and there was nothing left for her to teach him about her womanhood. He kissed and licked her folds, taking his time for it, then spread her with his fingers as he pushed his tongue inside. She gasped and cried his name, which had the same effect as putting the spurs to a fiery horse. When Thranduil poured his heart into something, he committed himself fully and truly, and this was never more evident than when he was pleasuring her, making love to her. His intensity was one of the reasons why she had fallen for him all those years ago, and he had never let her forget it.

Once he had skilfully brought her to the very brink of coherency, he turned his attention to her clit once more, sealing his lips over it, alternately sucking and humming in a way that caused the most torturous vibrations to ripple through her belly and down her legs. She cried out and almost sobbed with relief when climax hit her, clutching at his hair while he gently lapped up the taste of her as she had done for him earlier. But even then the sense of urgency did not abate, and he went on touching and caressing her without so much as a moment’s pause. He kissed her, nipped her neck with his teeth and fondled her breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers. She arched up into his touch, murmuring his name over and over, and he was fully aroused once more, his eyes sparking emerald green as he rode against her thigh, spreading his moisture across her skin.  
  
“Say it, Rasi,” he breathed heavily into her ear. “I need you to say it, _please_.”  
  
“Oh, my love.” She kissed him and slid one leg around his waist. “I long for you inside me. Show me how a King loves his Queen.”

When he rose up on his knees, her breath caught unexpectedly at the sight of him. Moon and stars, but he was magnificent to look at. With his sleek masculine build, thick golden mane and striking eyes, he rivalled the beauty of the Valar themselves. Suddenly impatient, she reached for him, pulling him closer and stroking his majestic cock. He was slick with arousal, which helped create an exquisitely smooth slide that brought him to the brink of his thinly stretched endurance.  
  
“Enough… enough,” he said hoarsely. He pushed back her knees as far as they would go, opening her wide.  
  
“No fear,” she reminded him. “Never hold back with me, Thranduil.”  
  
He groaned and moved in on his knees, aligning himself at her entrance. She was ready-- she had been ready for years. She knew that he had suffered, out there in those wastelands, that he had challenged death time and time again and would always bear the scars, but she wanted him to rid himself of his anger and grief along with his seed, because those emotions had no place in their wedding bed.

When finally he sank himself deeply within her, she gasped with the pleasure of being filled thus, eagerly receiving everything he gave and still wanting more. It felt as though by this act she was made whole again, for he was as much a part of her as her lungs, and being separated from him these past years had felt like slowly drowning, one labored breath at a time. Soon she would pledge herself to him, one day she hoped to bear him children with eyes just like his, but at this moment, she simply relished the feeling of _rightness_  that being joined with him gave her. She wondered if it felt the same to him, and what thoughts - if any - went through his head as he thrust into her with increasing force. His hair fell around his shoulders in its usual unruly manner, loose strands sticking to sweat-slick skin.  
  
She was not really surprised when his grunting became sobbing, but it startled her all the same. She could not recall ever having seen him weep before, and the tears that now rolled down his face spoke of a profound emotion that threatened to shatter her heart into a thousand pieces. Was it any wonder? For years he had camped out in the remote, dusty plains of Mordor, where no tree ever grew, no bird ever sang. For years, death and destruction had been first and foremost in his mind, and his hands had become skilled in dealing out both. He had buried his father with those hands. And now to make that most heartbreaking of changes, to lay down arms and use those hands to love a woman once more, knowing that so many fellow soldiers would never embrace their loved ones again-- was it any wonder that he shed a few tears for all of that? Yet he did not stop to apologize or explain his tears away, and why should he? The salty droplets from his eyes that splattered onto her abdomen were not a sign of weakness, far from it. With her hands she rubbed the moisture into her skin until it was gone.  
  
“Yes, Thranduil, yes,” she intoned, reaching around to claw at his buttocks, seeking to have more of him inside her. “I'm ready, I want it, now, now, _now_.”  
  
He groaned and gathered himself one last time, his strong fingers pressing into her thighs as he pounded into her hard and fast, and she braced herself against the headboard to withstand the force of it, her mouth open as climax wrung a cry from her lungs. He came with a deep guttural groan and a wild toss of his golden head, holding her tightly as his pulsing cock released its load deep inside her. She reached for him, seeking his gaze and holding it even as his seed spilled into her body. Very soon thereafter, he began to tremble and had to release her, even though their physical connection remained intact. As they lay entwined, she held and caressed him tenderly, enjoying his warmth on her and inside of her.

At long last he said, “I truly am lord of these halls now, aren't I?”  
  
“Yes, dearest. There is nothing for it.”  
  
He sighed and propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes now azure blue like a calm and peaceful sea, but there was a spark of determination in them that made her heart leap for joy. Yes, this was the Thranduil she knew and remembered! This was a look befitting a King!  
  
“Rasi, one day I will tell you of the things that happened on those barren plains, but not today,” he said. “It is sordid and dreadful business, and I have no desire to soil the moment with those tales. Just know this: today you have unclothed me and cleansed my body and washed my hair, and I thank you for all of it, but most importantly, you have let me feel joy again.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I don't know if I can be half the King Oropher was, but you, my lady love, give me the strength to at least try.”  
  
She gazed at him with pride in her heart. Yes, the stubborn streak was back in Thranduil's face indeed, and it was back to stay. _Oh, but the crown will sit well upon his head!_

“My love,” she said with great certainty as she affectionately brushed his jaw with her fingers, “I have seen your quality, and I have no doubt that you will be twice the King Oropher was.”


	4. Written In Ink

Normally, the death of the monarch would be followed by a mourning period of ninety days, but by this time the Greenwood throne had been empty for so long that the Council decided to shorten it to ten. Preparations for a sober crowning ceremony were made, and Thranduil and Arasien saw themselves forced to forgo a traditional engagement and complete their nuptials with some haste, as Thranduil insisted that she be crowned alongside him as his lawful Queen. His father would surely have approved, and that thought almost brought a smile to Thranduil’s face once or twice. Defying Oropher had been second nature to him, but now that the father was dead and buried, the son found himself meekly falling into line. There was a certain irony in it all. 

Not that he resented his brand new status of husband, far from it. While he had been promiscuous in the past, his heart had never belonged to anyone but her, and he was humbled by the fact that she still loved him and accepted him with all his flaws. He had truly matured in the years of war that lay behind him, and if there was one thing he was grateful for, it was that the experience had caused the scales to fall from his eyes and made him realize how blessed he would be to call this woman his wife. He didn’t know what had possessed him to put it off for so long, but he was glad that he had been allowed to return home and correct that mistake. Yes, he was ready for marriage. 

The kingship, though, now that was a different matter. As Oropher’s only son and heir, he had been groomed for the throne all his life, but now that he was supposed to actually sit on the damn thing, the responsibility of it gave him nightmares. Ironically, taking over his father’s role on the battlefield had been the easy part; now, he dreaded the administrative and diplomatic duties that were about to become part of his daily routine, and he wasn’t given much time to get used to the idea. Even before crowning, there were decisions to be made, meetings to be attended and papers to be signed. In the course of a few days, he was assigned a valet, a personal tailor, an assistant and a secretary, and the King’s Steward spent many an hour walking him through the current and past issues that required his attention. It was a lot to take in, but Thranduil knew that his reputation as King hinged on how well he performed right from the start. Unfortunately, he also knew that his father’s example was the standard by which he would be measured, and that some skeptics were waiting for him to fail. 

He soon gave up trying to fend off his valet’s attempts at dressing him in the mornings. Apparently it was completely unacceptable for a sovereign to slip into his own robes, and Thranduil had taken a liking to Aegas, who was devoted and hard-working but never too busy to offer the simple pleasure of a conversation. Thranduil had caught the young elf looking at his scars a few times and could sense his curiosity, but he wasn’t ready to tell those stories yet. Seeing his bare torso reflected in the mirror had given him an idea, however, and he hadn’t been able to shake it since. That night he pitched the plan to his new bride, who gave him her full support. And so, with less than a week to go until crowning, Thranduil spent an uncomfortable twelve hours getting his skin inked. Not vanity, but his father’s memory drove him, because when Oropher took the crown, he too had had his skin permanently marked as a pledge of loyalty to the Silvan elves he had vowed to protect. Tattooing was highly uncommon among Teleri, but Silvan elves had practised the art for thousands of years. Thranduil chose a different placement, his right arm instead of the left, but the design was roughly the same: a tribal pattern inspired by the family sigil - the fern - covering his shoulder and most of his upper arm. 

“Do you wish to take a break, my lord?” asked the artist, Dairion, several hours into the procedure. 

“No, I can keep going.” 

The elf smiled as he poured some disinfectant on a cloth and wiped Thranduil’s bicep with it. “Proud like your father. He, too, refused to admit how much it hurt.” 

“I can ignore the pain quite easily,” Thranduil said. “But I suppose I could use a sip of water.” 

Dairion leaned away to pour water into a cup and offered it to Thranduil, who sat up to drink. Dairion used the opportunity to take a few sips as well. “If I may ask, my lord, why your right arm?” 

“It is my sword arm... my strong arm.” Thranduil lay back down, sighing. “Perhaps it is the obvious choice, but it seemed fitting.” 

“The obvious choice is often best, I find.” Dairion dipped the needle into the ink and resumed his work. “The ink is durable, it will not fade as long as you draw breath. You will be pleased with the result.” 

That evening, Thranduil was leafing through some dossiers in the improvised workspace in his private chambers. His shoulder and arm were burning and throbbing underneath the layers of protective gauze, but Dairion had assured him that the swelling would have gone down by the time of the crowning. Elves were quick healers, after all. 

There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” he called distractedly, expecting Galion or Aegas, but instead, one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting entered. 

“Your Grace.” She curtsied, eyes downcast. “The Queen-Mother requests a private meeting with you. She is waiting outside.” 

“Well then, by all means, let her come in.” Thranduil closed the file and got up. The elleth retreated into the corridor and moments later Queen Amareth walked in. She was the very picture of elegance even in her sober black dress. 

“Why the formalities, Mother?” he asked as he took her hands and kissed her on the cheek. “You know you can visit anytime, and without a retinue.” 

“You are married now, Thranduil,” she replied in a soft voice, “and I will respect your privacy and that of your new bride.” 

“Arasien is not here at the moment.” He waited until she was seated before following her example. “She is out having tea with friends. I do not expect her back for at least another hour.” 

“Perhaps that is advantageous.” Amareth looked down at her hands. “Thranduil, I have until now avoided asking you about Oropher, but we cannot put that conversation off forever. My husband was killed in battle and I must have some answers.” 

Thranduil sighed. “I was not there when it happened, Mother. He had sent me on a mission to the northern boundaries that day, probably because he was planning a dangerous move and did not want me there, criticizing him for it. Heledir saw him fall; he is the one you should ask.” 

She shook her head. “Heledir is very loyal, but he may feel pressed to embellish the truth for fear of causing me grief. I want the honest truth, all of it, and I want to hear it from you. Did he at least die honourably?” 

Thranduil raised his eyes to the ceiling, taking a deep and steadying breath. “What is honour? He fell with his sword in hand, fighting for the freedom of Middle-earth; one could say that is honourable. The Noldor, however, will have a different view. They will say that Oropher was a subversive element, who did not respect Gil-galad’s command and called a premature charge, thus getting himself and dozens of his men killed needlessly.” 

Amareth closed her eyes briefly. “Was it instant?” 

“No,” Thranduil said, “life left him slowly. He spent his final hours in the relative comfort of his tent, after Heledir had personally carried him to safety. He had visible and invisible wounds that were beyond any healer’s skill to heal.” 

“Did you speak with him in those last hours?” 

Thranduil nodded. “I sat at his bedside when his heart stopped beating. He asked me to tell you he was sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“That, he didn’t say.” Thranduil smiled ruefully. “For failing, I suppose. You know how succinct he could be. He did however spend a considerable amount of time giving me instructions, and used his dying breath to tell me to get married and sire a few heirs.” 

He could hear his tone growing sarcastic and mentally berated himself for it. The bitterness was misplaced-- Oropher was dead, and his marriage was one of love, not convenience. He was devoted to his wife, and yes, he did hope to become a father one day, although he and Arasien had agreed that that would have to wait until the situation in the kingdom had stabilized. 

“It wasn’t in Oropher’s nature to be openly affectionate,” Amareth said softly. “He was often stern and disapproving, because he was grooming you for a very important and very difficult task, but he did love you, Thranduil.” 

“He just couldn’t say it to my face,” Thranduil said, just as quietly. “Not even on his death bed.” 

“Did you ever tell him?” she asked. “When he lay dying, did you tell him that you loved him? I think I know the answer. The two of you are very much alike in many ways, _ion-nîn_.” 

“Maybe so,” he acknowledged, “but I vow that if the Valar ever see fit to bless my marriage with offspring, my children will never have to doubt my love for them.” 

Amareth nodded. “Yes, you will make a wonderful father one day. That is beyond any doubt.” She rose to her feet, as if to leave, but instead she gazed around, and her eyes fell on the messy piles of paper on top of the table that served as Thranduil’s desk. “I do hope this is just temporary, Thranduil. Take some advice from your mother, who speaks from experience: if you want a happy marriage, never bring business into the bedroom. Why don’t you use the large study on the first floor?” 

“The first floor?” Thranduil frowned. “Do you mean Father’s office?” 

She smiled sadly and turned away to leave. “Yours, now.”


	5. A Little Privacy

_Once you are Queen, privacy will be one of the hardest things to come by. You will have to fight for it every day, but make sure that you do, for the sake of your marriage… and your sanity._ These were the words of warning Amareth had shared with Arasien shortly after the engagement, and she had indeed spoken truly. Thranduil was not even formally King yet, but already Arasien had had to draw her boundaries with regard to etiquette. She was willing to give a little, and she did not mind being escorted by guards or her ladies-in-waiting wherever she went, but there were a few simple things she would fiercely defend, and one of those was the right to an hour or two of peace and quiet for herself and her husband.  
  
“I thank you for your company, Talariel,” she told the elleth who had accompanied her to the royal chambers after a small gathering at a friend’s house. “Here you may leave me. I will have no further need of you tonight.”  
  
After the elleth had curtsied and left, Arasien took a nearby torch from its sconce and headed down the corridor that led to her rooms. Upon entering, she found Thranduil still in the same spot as before, poring over papers with a glum expression on his face. His features brightened when he saw her, however, and he reached up to bid her welcome with a kiss. “Did you have a pleasant evening?” he asked her. He seemed glad for the distraction, but his smile did not convince her, not entirely.  
  
“I did.” She glanced at the stacks of paper in front of him. They did not seem significantly smaller or more organized than they had a few hours earlier. “How was yours? Did you get some work done?”  
  
“Very little.” He sighed and pushed the files he had been studying aside. “Watching mountains erode is more entertaining than trying to absorb some of this drivel. I have never had the patience for these things. I know fighting, Rasi, and not much else.”  
  
“I do not agree.” She caressed his cheek. “Your father taught you well. It just takes some time to remember it all. You will find your footing soon enough.”  
  
He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch slightly. “Naneth was here a little while ago.” He went on to tell her about his conversation with the Queen-Mother. “I think I have to start using Father’s former study, but I dread going into that room, which is why I have avoided it thus far. It has not been touched since we rode to Mordor all those years ago, and you know what a hoarder he was.”  
  
“It is a good idea, Thranduil. You need a proper work space, a desk; you’ll be glad for it in the end.” She touched his shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll come with you, if you want me to. We’ll sort through your father’s things together and get the room ready for you, even if it takes a year.”  
  
He nodded and covered her hand with his own, turning his head to kiss her fingers one by one. She merely watched him, as she so often did, studying the face she knew more intimately than her own-- the curve of his upper lip, the strong nose and noble forehead. She semi-playfully rubbed the crease between his brows with her thumb, wishing she could make his worries disappear that easily. When his gaze met hers, she did not look away from the heat she saw in his eyes, nor did she protest when he caught her by the wrist and slowly pulled her onto his lap. “My love,” he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her neck. “How shall I get any work done with you nearby?”  
  
Arasien tipped her head back to give him better access, curling her hand into one of the lapels of his robe. Desire lent fire to his kisses and made his usually nimble fingers struggle with the bindings of her dress. Instead of helping him, she gathered her skirts and straddled his hips, pushing the robe from his shoulders. His breeches gave her no trouble whatsoever-- she unlaced him deftly, feeling his breath quickening against her skin as she pulled away the fabric as far as it would go, exposing him. He filled her hand so beautifully, but she wanted more, more. What she would have wanted most of all was the power to give him back the past years of his life, silence the voices of his fallen comrades and make him unsee those dead faces in their watery grave, but no such power existed under the Sun. However, the things she _could_ do to make him briefly forget his troubles, she would do gladly.  
  
They completed the marital act there on that chair, Thranduil’s cry of release smothered against her bosom. Their couplings were always passionate, but this time there was a little sadness mixed in with the pleasure. As she held him afterwards, her heart bled for his beautiful, wounded soul, for the rebel-turned-king, for the part of him that _had_ perished in Mordor. Yes, his experiences there had changed him, undeniably, and the road ahead was not without some perils of its own, but she would walk it with him. She prayed that it would be enough.

After a while Thranduil drew back slightly, lifting his hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. “I sent Aegas away for the evening.”  
  
The words seemed to convey a promise, and she gave him a smile in response. “That must have taken some persuasion on your part.”  
  
Thranduil sighed. “He is a good lad and I like him, but I could like him even more if he willingly gave us a little privacy now and then. A valet should know when to take his distance. These are our bridal days after all.”  
  
“He is young; he wants to impress you.” She shifted slightly in his lap, pleased to note that his body was already showing signs of renewed interest. “When you were a young elf, did you not look upon Elu Thingol with the same adoration, hoping to be noticed and praised by his Lordship?”  
  
“That is bordering on sacrilege.” He softened the words with a smile. “Elu Thingol was High-King of Beleriand, one of the greatest Eldar who ever lived. I am but a fledgling king of a rustic people, little more than a footnote in the annals of Middle-earth.”  
  
“Don’t say that.” It saddened her to hear him bring himself down so. “You used to be so confident, Thranduil. What happened to you?”  
  
He turned sad eyes upon her, and she regretted her words at once, but he spoke before she could apologize. “I was cocky, Rasi. Cocky and selfish and full of hot air, as Father liked to say, and he was right. I thought of no one but myself. The war has changed me, perhaps in some ways for the better, but I cannot blame the people for doubting me. I cannot even blame those who may wish Father had returned instead of me.”  
  
Arasien’s eyes moistened, and she unsuccessfully tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat. “Oh, my love,” she said, kissing him. “Even if there are people who think that, you will prove them wrong. You will be a worthy successor and a great King, I know it. I believe in you.”  
  
“I know you do, and it means more to me than I can ever say.” He took her face between his hands and kissed her with unexpected urgency. After a few moments she stopped him, not because she wasn’t enjoying it, but to rise from his lap and finish the work he had started, undressing the rest of the way. She was not a brazen woman, but baring herself to her husband’s gaze caused her no discomfort. On the contrary, it was a private and almost sacred act she had learned to enjoy.  
  
 _“Elbereth, ci vain.”_ He sighed. “You could drive a man to desperation.”  
  
She took his hand and led him to the bedroom, never breaking eye contact. “Do you remember the first time we met?”  
  
He nodded. “You wore a blue dress and you had a silver clip in your hair. A butterfly. I could not speak, I was so infatuated. Father thought it very amusing; he said it was the first time he had ever seen me tongue-tied.” He paused briefly. “Always he was asking me when I would do the right thing and ask for your hand. Even on his death bed.”  
  
It was the first time he spoke to her of Oropher’s passing, and she turned to give him her full attention. “Go on, my love.”  
  
“I told him I loved you and had every intention of marrying you, given the chance.” His voice broke ever so slightly. “But truthfully, in that moment, I… I did not believe I would ever see you again. I was sure I would follow him into the grave at some point.”  
  
“But you didn’t.” She reached up and joined her hands behind his neck. “I am so sorry you were given these burdens to bear, but I will devote my life to helping you find your strength. That is my solemn vow.”  
  
He embraced her fiercely. “Rasi,” he said with muffled voice, “I have much to feel guilty for, but you do know that there never was another woman, don’t you? This I swear to you. I have never had nor desired another.”  
  
“I know, dearest. I have always known. And please, let go of your guilt. I have no use for it.” She sat down on the bed and guided him to the floor between her legs, gently removing the gauze from his recently tattooed arm. There was some redness and swelling, but the piece itself was beautifully done and it suited him. She treated the inflamed skin with healing balm and reapplied the bandage. Then she put some ointment on a few of his larger scars as well; most of them were several years old, and they didn’t bother her, but once his outer scars faded, she hoped the wounds of his soul would follow suit.  
  
When she was finished, he got up without a word, removed his remaining clothes and joined her on the bed. This time, the flame of passion took a while to ignite fully, but once it did, it blazed like a bonfire, long and brightly. When at long last they broke apart, exhausted from loving each other, the fire in the hearth, too, had simmered down to a smolder. Thranduil collapsed into the pillows next to her, panting harshly. It was a good long while before he found his breath and could speak again.  
  
“Merciful Valar, woman, you do know how to pour courage into a man’s heart.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “If the Enemy were at our gates right now, I’d take him on single-handedly.”  
  
“That would not be courage but foolhardiness.” She closed her eyes in bliss, relishing the sense of security his embrace gave her. The fact that he had mentioned Sauron encouraged her to ask one of her most burning questions. “What happened to him, Thranduil? How was he defeated in the end?”  
  
He waited a few moments before responding. “It was Gil-galad and Elendil who brought him to his knees, but they paid for it with their lives. Isildur then took the One Ring, the source of his power. Sauron’s physical form was destroyed, but his spirit was seen fleeing eastwards, in the shape of a black cloud.”  
  
She thought about this for a while. “What does this mean, Thranduil? If his spirit endured… Can he regain his strength and return? Please, tell me the truth.”  
  
“I could never lie to you.” Thranduil sighed. “Middle-earth is safe for now, but evil will always find a way. Yes, I fear that Sauron _will_ rise again, and that this peace, for which we so dearly paid, is only temporary. I am sorry. I wish I could give you a different answer.”  
  
Fear had gripped her heart while he spoke, and she tightened her hold on him until the feeling subsided. The joy of their reunion was still so fresh; the thought of Middle-earth being engulfed by another war was not to be borne.  
  
“Thank you for telling me the truth,” she said softly. “Now I shall try to put it as far from my mind as I possibly can.”  
  
“I have told you the truth of what is in my heart,” he said gently. “Who can say what the future holds? A thousand years may pass before Sauron is heard from again, and a lot could happen in that time. My fears may never come true.” He kissed the top of her head and sighed into her hair. “I usually don’t like being wrong… but in this case, I truly hope that I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ci vain: you are beautiful


End file.
